


Nothing

by Masterofceremonies



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Multi, Murder, Parent/Child Incest, Rape, Young Mason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofceremonies/pseuds/Masterofceremonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Mason's Papa died, and why he doesn't talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

Mason didn’t sleep well. Hadn’t for years. But he was used to it so five hours of sleep became a good night, and 3 was average. He wore his glasses low to hide the circles under his eyes. He didn’t really need glasses, but he was sick of people asking him what was wrong. He even stole some of Margot’s concealer, but she had so much makeup the theft went unnoticed. He was 21. 21 years old and he should have been having the time of his life, but he had been kicked out of college for drug use, and even blowing the dean didn’t cut him any slack.

Not like his Papa was going to help. He hadn’t wanted Mason to go to college in the first place, but he had to get out. Muskrat Farm was feeling oppressive. Of course Margot got into  some liberal school on the other side of the country, and only came back for holidays so Papa would keep paying for tuition. Her comings and goings made Mason bitter. He was jealous of her and a rift had begun to open between them. But how could she understand?

The nightly visits from his dear Papa continued, and now Mason could take it without bleeding, take it without crying or writhing in shame. The upside was that he didn’t wince anymore when he sat down and felt the burn that now seemed to follow him anywhere. The downside was that Papa was visiting him almost every night.

Tonight he couldn’t take it. He left his room and wandered around the lesser-used wings of the mansion. Maybe if he wasn’t in his bed his Papa wouldn’t come looking. After an hour, maybe two, he had calmed down enough that each noise in the mansion didn’t make him think of his Papa’s cane thudding on the polished wood floor in chase of him, and he actually began to feel tired. Gritting his teeth he decided to go to bed, praying that his Papa was asleep.

Padding as quietly as he could back to his room, he passed the hallway where Margot slept. He had entertained the thought that he would slip into her room, like he used to, and she would hold him tight and make the nightmares go away. But he dispelled the thought quickly. She was only back for a week, Easter was very important to his Papa, and then she’d be gone. Leaving Mason like she always did, alone and without help.

He tried to creep by silently, as the boards often creaked, but a shadow made him stop.

He was in darkness, but the form passed by a window and the moon illuminated the silver grey hair of his Papa. Mason’s throat closed up from fear before he realized he hadn’t been spotted. Papa wasn’t coming towards him. He was going into Margot’s room. Almost without thought Mason scrambled silently after him, slipping into the darkened room just before the door had clicked shut behind the patriarch.

Papa was standing with his back to Mason, staring down at Margot’s sleeping form. She never woke up unless you screamed in her ear, something that made her vulnerable to pranks Mason pulled when they were younger. Steadying his breathing, Mason debated whether or not to just slip out again, leave Papa to watch over Margot, when he heard it.

A fly being unzipped.

13 years of abuse suddenly roared over Mason with a vengeance and he lurched forward, tackling his Papa onto the couch in the center of the room. The older man let out a surprised grunt, but didn’t cry out, too used to remaining quiet to avoid detection. Mason suddenly found himself straddling his Papa, hands grabbing fistfuls of his suit as he held him down on the couch. He was met with a bewildered stare, and the total surprise on his Papa’s face almost made him scramble off and run for it. But he felt something hot and hard pressing into his thigh, and the memories of all the nights he had suffered underneath this man came flooding back to him, so he grabbed a pillow and crammed it over the face he had learned to hate.

He struggled, yes, but his bad leg and poor diet made him weak, and anger fueled Mason’s young body to pin him down and press the pillow against his mouth harder, until his Papa had stopped moving. Even then, he kept pressing down, tears gushing down his face for the first time in god knows how long. Eventually he got up, and his Papa’s arm fell limply onto the carpet. Mason spotted his undone fly and reached over, hands shaking, to tuck him back into his pants. In the process he knocked the pillow off his face, and noted that he had died without a bruise, without a mark on him. Unlike how Mason lived. He managed to re-buckle his belt before he vomited all over the carpet. 

That woke Margot. She turned on the light and screamed. Mason said nothing. The staff came in. Mason said nothing. They called an ambulance but he was pronounced dead. Mason said nothing. The doctor said it was most likely natural causes. He drank, he smoked, he ate badly. It was only a matter of time.

And still, Mason said nothing. 


End file.
